Reptile
by Nintendorina
Summary: John is celebrating his birthday with Sherlock and friends. What begins as a pleasant evening becomes the start of a lengthy murder investigation that has both Sherlock and John physically, mentally and emotionally taxed. Rated M for graphic violence and adult themes. Very slight Johnlock.


**Chapter one: An Ordinary Day**

Blink. Blink. Blink. The text cursor on my word processor continues to blink rhythmically as I struggle to write my blog. Sherlock hasn't had a case in about a week; nothing interesting enough, evidently, which leaves me in limbo. Sherlock has been ignoring calls from Lestrade and Mycroft for assistance. He seems preoccupied in something else. He appears to be on edge whenever he speaks to me, and often avoids eye contact. At the moment, he is sat at the kitchen table, carefully prodding a piece of rotting flesh – charming thing to be keeping in the kitchen! – With a fork—A FORK?! If I make it out of this flat alive tonight, I will be very surprised! He seems undeterred by his criminally negligent use of cutlery to dissect the stomach-wrenching carrion, or even the fact he eats off that fork, and scribbles notes in a small lecture pad. I watch on with intrigue; I daren't cross the room to investigate. After some time, the smell of formalin gets to him, and with a twitch of his nose, he proceeded to put the flesh back in the fridge. He exhales heavily through his nose and wears a pained expression on his face. Now would be the time to ask. I stood and walked towards him as he made his way to his arm chair.

'Well? Any reason you're prodding corpses with our kitchen utensils?' I look down at him from his side. He opens his mouth to answer, but cannot find the words. He looked at me, and simply offered: 'Bored'

He flicked the telly on and a commercial for knitted jumpers appeared. It reminded me that I need to buy more – I liked the look of the hedgehog patterned jumper. My thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt change of channels; Sherlock had flicked the channel with such panic, and I hadn't even really noticed.

'Hey! I was watching that!' I objected. Sherlock said nothing and continued to watch the television. I grunted as I fell onto the adjacent sofa and drag the Sunday paper onto my lap. The sounds coming from the television could only be described as an angry mob mashing censorship buttons over and over. I didn't even need to redirect my attention to figure out what it was.

'Watching Jeremy Kyle again, Sherlock?'

'Yes'

I chuckled to myself as I continued to read. Between bleeps, cheers and Sherlock's interjections, I struggled to concentrate on the paper. A nagging thought tugged the back of my mind. A persistent tap on my skull urged me to speak up.

'Sherlock? What's going on?' I asked with concern. Silence. As much silence as can be expected with Jeremy Kyle in the background. He turned his head towards the fireplace and muttered:

'I'm going for a stroll' he leapt from his chair and strafed to the door, still avoiding my eye contact. I rushed to stop him. I grabbed his arm firmly and tugged him towards me.

'I'm not playing around anymore! What's wrong?' I asserted. Sherlock looked away again, disconcerted. With a puzzled look on his face, his eyes met mine.

'What time is it?'

'3PM. It's a Thursday. Late 2010. You've been in a coma for six years' I tried to joke with a confused grin. He didn't share my strange sense of humour and pulled out of my grip and ran for the front door. I went to shut the flat's door with a little too much enthusiasm and accidentally slammed it. I know this, because within minutes, Mrs Hudson had knocked on the door, opened it and entered with her typical alert noise:

'Woohoo! Everything okay, dear?' she asked from the gap of the door.

'Have you noticed Sherlock acting strange, lately?' I asked. She shook her head and grabbed her chin between her left thumb and forefinger.

'No stranger than usual. I just remember him sneaking into my flat early this morning and asked about your present—Ooh!' she silenced herself by covering her mouth. I was certainly intrigued.

'What was that, Mrs Hudson?' I tried in vain to mask the surprise and excitement in my voice. She became flustered and bothered, and quickly left, shutting the door with almost as much enthusiasm as I had. Present? Now that I remember, it's my birthday tomorrow. I hadn't really thought much about what I was planning to do. After all, thirty-four isn't a very important birthday. I grabbed my laptop from the desk, sat on Sherlock's armchair and searched in vain for the channel that advertised the hedgehog jumpers.

(Chapter two: John's Birthday will be released next Friday! In the meantime, please take the time to R+R and make me a happeh-chappeh! )


End file.
